2010
09.07
09.07
I have a magic girl,
a fairy-tale girl,
a green cat-eyed girl.
And she moves when she walks
like the smell of the shops where they sell
roses
lilies
snap-dragons
pinks
in sweet wet bundles.
And when she puts a hand,
a soft white warm-smelling delicate-nailed
brushing on my skin,
the hairs on my arm all tug with her fingertips,
And the hairs on my arm
and the teeth in my mouth
and the bones in my face
and the yellow in my self
are like a cat–
a small white cat–
lying on its side
the cobbles poking through its fetid flesh,
and its guts peeking through its fur,
and the smell of it catching you in a sticky embrace
warm
in the summer sun.